


discord

by redledgers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alignment Change, Alternate Universe - Dark, Chaotic Evil, Dark, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: Chaotic evil sowers of discord and destruction upon the streets of Tal'dorei





	discord

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted directly to tumblr way earlier in the year. I realized I had never posted it here! Inspired by something Taliesin mentioned about alignment shifts.

The barrel glints, cold and grey in the candlelight, and he turns it in his hands once more before showing it to her. “You load it here,” he says, pointing as he speaks, and she watches in rapt fascination. “And then you aim it here,” he presses it right against her forehead, “or here,” he moves it to her heart, “or here,” and settles it against her stomach.

“But how is it any different than an arrow?” she asks, pointing to his head, chest, and stomach in turn. He wishes he could feel the sharp dragging pain as she drags her nails across his torso but the cloth of his vest blocks the sensation.

“The elegance, dear,” he replies. “The chaos, the mystique.”

She smiles, a wicked thing, and takes the gun to inspect it closer, to run slender fingers over cold metal, to test it’s smoothness, it’s heft. “And what shall you do with it?”

“Sow discord.”

It’s a subtle sort, one built on charm and brusqueness and observation, the shifting of shadows and outright beacons. Together they work effectively, in a madness-induced frenzy until he is passing out his creations with lists of no more than six, lists of names she procured with flattery and stolen information; they watch together as havoc is wreaked on the cities they pass through without a trace. They exist as a ghost of a man and a slip of a girl, shrouded in shadows and dazzling in the light.

100 untraceable bullets gilded in gold and shot through the barrel of a revolver—six shots for six victims. And then it goes on. Sometimes there are arrows, but she is more calculated, more likely to hold the mask until the moment the doors lock; it is then she will unleash a volley and paint her dress crimson.

Lurking beneath is a desire, a need to control and create from losses too great to speak of, a chasm of death and destruction from which they were born. Laughter still echoes there, bubbling up from the depths and they revel it, bathe in the ashes of their actions and laugh because they feel nothing. They build an empire up, devastation and smoke littered with feathers and splintered wood; a world created for themselves, a dynasty from which they survey what is left. Howling winds travel fast ahead of them, buffeting forests and mountains with unrelenting ferocity, and they travel on. Not even the gods can stop them, their roots dug too deep in blackened earth, spreading beneath and only appearing when they have conquered.

(when smoke billows under door frames they have not sold a thing, and if they are claimed then it is by each other in their last breaths, content in the knowledge that they have taken down kings and cities and that the playfulness of a gun is only the start of their legacy)


End file.
